Getting Dressed
by Kakawot
Summary: Always Female!Edward vs. Amestris. She contemplates her role in society while getting dressed.


**A/N:** Always female!Edward vs. Amestris. Please do notify me if you come across any errors - I'm ESL. Enjoy!

 _Warnings:_ periods and other female bodily functions.

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As she dried herself off, the youthful skin was marred by scars she pretended not to notice. There were far more unsightly scars out there, she knew. She had seen. These, however, were _her_ scars. Her mistakes, painted upon her naked flesh as reminders when she nearly failed Al. The rough, old scars where the automail connected to her body were the most obvious of all. The stab wounds which had brought her down to her knees left white, faint scars. They looked insignificant compared to the pain they'd brought.

As she emptied the tricky pockets of her automail where puddles of water might still be hiding she couldn't help but admire Winry's workmanship. Compared to her flesh arm the automail was bulky, but it still possessed a certain grace. Her leg showed the curve of her calf, but Winry hadn't used the human musculature, which could be blocky in that area, to hide the gears and mechanisms used to make the automail work. She could've made it stand out, but Ed could hide it in pants and nobody ever suspected until they saw a glint of metal.

Ed slipped into her underpants easily, making sure the edge didn't catch on the metal, thereby ruining another pair.

With a distant pang of regret she forewent the customary bra and put a tank-top on instead. She had experimented plenty with all sorts of bras, but truth be told, she was so flat-chested she didn't need one. Ever since she'd found out that her body was eating, sleeping and developing for two so that Al's real body had a shot at life when he got his back, she no longer cared about the jabs concerning the size of her chest. What did that matter in the long run anyway? They were just bags of fat sitting on top of her chest and even if she could get a corset or brassiere to make whatever little she had seem like more, the straps would get tangled in her automail anyway. And she was _not_ up for a repeat of That Incident of Which We Shall Not Speak where Al had to help her untangle herself from the grip of a certain stubborn bra.

And since a corset restricted her movement in a fight she settled for a tank top and plenty of mentions of her general waifness.

Next up, a blue shirt. No words, no symbols, no indication whatsoever that the wearer was a dog of the military. It concealed the fact that her ribs stuck out more than her hips. Something which every doctor she'd ever visited commented on. Curvy was the way to look right now in Central – plenty of ads in magazines showed diet pills which promised to put on pounds to get that full figure men went crazy over.

Curiosity drove her to buy a pack of those diet pills. Maybe they'd work, maybe then she wouldn't have to feel hungry so often.

Analyzing chemicals, strange powders and mysterious ingredients was a necessary skill for any alchemist. She had analyzed, tested, sniffed and prodded but when the pills turned out to be nothing more than refined sugar mixed with vitamins and mineral oil her temper had gotten the better of her and she'd thrown them out the window. Advertisements lied.

So she just kept on eating a lot and ignored the doctors telling her to put on some weight. She was trying, damn it!

Too bad her job as a State Alchemist kept on running her ragged, healing and battling and searching the city for various villains and allies. The stringy muscles she'd developed gave her a bit of definition. Then again, she did not want to end up like Major Armstrong, who could encircle her waist with his hands and had lifted her up in the past like she weighed nothing, automail or not. Lugging around the weight of her metal limbs all day had given her toned thighs and strong chest muscles, but she kept those carefully hidden underneath the black pants she favored.

She buttoned those pants up and thought about that one time she'd worn a skirt. It had been something formal or other she and every State Alchemist had been invited to, and Colonel Mustang had pretty much ordered her to dress in a formal matter. Which, for women, meant skirts and dresses and all those things she avoided by choosing pants over impractical skirts.

Al had been no help at all since he had not been invited, because someone who 'chose' to wear a suit of armor at all times would not fit in at this soirée. Come to think of it, Colonel Mustang had not looked happy as he ordered the Fullmetal Alchemist to come. Al had happily told Ed to let the shop clerk help her out because she probably had a much better idea what was appropriate than the both of them combined.

The sight of automail had stopped the clerk short for a minute before she bustled off, returning with floor-length skirts which made the already short alchemist appear even shorter.

"I look like a kid playing dress-up," Ed had complained as the fabric swished around her legs, concealing everything she wanted concealed, but it did nothing for her admittedly short stature.

"Usually I'd recommend a pair of high heels, but, w-well," the shop clerk stuttered to a stop and indicated the heavy automail. Heels would be crushed underneath that weight and there was no way in hell Ed was letting Winry come up to Central to fit her with a pair of metal heels.

The disaster continued as the shop clerk returned with dresses reaching to the ground, drowning the small alchemist in fabric.

"Alright, enough," Ed decided after she'd thrown another piece of cloth into the corner which only made her seem like a homeless guy using as much fabric as possible to stave off the cold. "I don't care if they see my leg. More than half of them know already anyway. It's not like I'm the only one in the city with automail."

She pulled the white A-line skirt off the rack which she'd been eying the past twenty minutes and it fit her almost right. Without thinking she clapped her hands together and transmuted the skirt into the perfect shape, stretching the fabric around the small protrusion of the automail. The shop clerk gasped.

"You're an alchemist?" she asked, her eyes wide as she appeared to see the small girl in front of her in a new light.

"State Alchemist, to be exact. That's why I need the stupid skirt for an army thing."

She turned around to observe herself in the mirror. It'd do as a formal piece. Now, a top.

"But you're twelve!"

"Fifteen," Ed corrected sourly. This woman had seen too much of her body already, had she not noticed the developed hips or… well, that was pretty much all that had developed. "Find me something that fits this skirt. With gloves. Please."

The shop clerk looked at her with sad eyes for a moment before she turned around and disappeared between the racks of clothing. Ed elected to ignore the look and also disappeared between the racks to look for something of her own choosing.

"You look… nice," Al commented later on when Ed was finished getting ready for the military formal thing.

It had been one of the first times Al had ever commented on Ed's body and for a moment Ed wanted to snap back. She was short, she knew it, damn it! Yes, she had small boobs, a thin waist, she was not curvy or desirable. Al had never told her that, he never would, but she'd heard it often enough. But Al had given her a compliment.

"Oh. Thanks," she said. She hurried out the door, almost forgetting her red coat to stave off the cold of night, covering up the classy blue blouse-vest combo complete with white gloves. Slipping on the familiar coat she felt a bit better and she tried to shoo the thought of what Al would wear to a formal event like this when he got his real body back. That would happen soon enough and then he could suffer with her.

Some people had reacted to her automail during the formal thing, she recalled. Mostly with sadness, some of the men saying that someone as pretty as her should not have been hurt like that. Those guys had probably been looking through beer goggles, because even with her blonde hair stuck in a French braid nobody called Ed 'pretty'.

Then again, everybody called girls 'pretty', even if they weren't. It was the lie holding up the diet pills and advertisements in magazines.

In day to day life Ed was glad she could cover up her automail, because few things bothered her more than false sympathy concerning the metal attached to her body.

She went as far as using thick-soled boots to cover up the sound of metal hitting the floor. The fact that they lent her half an inch of height helped. She used the excuse of having to kick people in the face in her job as State Alchemist as reason for those boots. But Al knew the truth and Ed didn't care. Whatever advantage she could get, she grabbed at with both hands.

The white-hemmed black jacket she pulled on next was one of her own design. It looked like a uniform, but one of her own choosing. Colonel Mustang was on her case often enough to wear the official uniform and in some incidents in the past it could've helped her out, but still she insisted on wearing her own uniform. In that other uniform she looked far too much like a boy, and she could never find one which fit her right.

When she slipped it on she noticed that the sleeves had gotten noticeably shorter. Her heart sang with joy. She was still growing! Inch by hard-won inch, but she had had this jacket altered two years ago. It was about time her body hit another growth spurt… if you could call two years a 'spurt'.

As she did a little victory dance she felt a certain wetness seep into her underwear and sighed dramatically. Growing up was nice and all, but as a woman there were certain drawbacks as well. Such as periods. She'd read in books that for most women their menses became regular after a couple of years. She'd been one of the lucky few who'd gotten it early on at twelve years old. Shouldn't it have settled down by now? But alas, her periods were irregular, came whenever they wanted and stayed however long they wanted. Then, nothing for two months, then a horrid flood as her body tried to catch up. Another testament to her spotty development but one which had ruined many panties and had scared Al silly a few times whenever her period hit her in her sleep and she bled all over the bed.

By now, Al just woke her whenever that happened and she took care of business. Just another thing to deal with, even if it sucked that she still had no idea when it would strike.

But her quick look 'n sniff turned up no blood, only normal discharge. She wondered if boys had to deal with any of that and quickly buttoned back up.

Ah, being a boy. It'd make certain aspects of her life much easier, because she probably wouldn't get picked up like she was a doll that often, or had to endure comments about her height. Nobody would tell her she had beautiful eyes but would look even better if she put on some weight. No whistles would follow her when she had to walk to a car in the aftermath of a battle with her clothes torn up. No doctor would dare tell her not to get pregnant because her body wouldn't be able to handle it until her periods became a regular occurrence (and she put on a little weight). No one would dare ask if all that education had been wasted on her because she was going to marry and take care of the kids anyway.

And absolutely no one would mistake Al for the Fullmetal Alchemist.

Yes, she surmised as she braided her hair, she'd thought about cutting it all off and going the tomboy-route. Maybe then people would take her more seriously instead of looking at her like a girl, like a two-pound nothing they could blow away instead of a trained alchemist with an intellect which had landed her a job as State Alchemist at an age where most teenagers were still struggling with fractions and basic anatomy.

But Ed liked her hair long. It was conventional, sure, but her mother had liked her long hair. She used to braid it according to Ed's wishes, however bizarre they might be. Ed kept a memory of her alive by keeping it long and braiding it every single day.

The bangs hid a scar on her forehead quite well, too.

And sometimes it was to her advantage to play the small girl who was in way over her head. She usually was, lately, but she didn't _play_ that part. Then, when she clapped her hands together and overwhelmed her target with large hands emerging from walls and erupting from the floor, she grinned and enjoyed the baffled looks on their faces. She was small, she was thin and her hands were tiny, but she was _good_ at alchemy.

Finally Ed slipped on her red coat, hiding everything underneath a fabric the color of blood. It was her first defense, a way to blend in and stand out at the same time. She could use the hood to hide her face and pretend she was a child running away from something, or let it billow behind her as she charged at a target, boosting her steps with alchemy.

Another thing boys probably wouldn't get scolded for – her temper. She chose the second option of her coat over the first many more times, because she couldn't stand certain things. She railed and screamed and could make a spectacle of herself quite well. Al had gotten used to it and Winry joined in often, screaming back and that argument could last hours.

Her own mother had told her it was unbecoming of a lady, but Ed knew one thing for sure – she was no lady. She was a State Alchemist, and they were allowed to get angry. Certain things just burst forth without her brain intervening, so she ended up yelling at Winry and Colonel Mustang, Major Armstrong and Envy, well, pretty much everyone in her vicinity had heard her shriek something or other in their lifetimes. Passionate, she called it.

Loud, everybody else called it. She had once heard a soldier remark how noisy she must be in bed and disgusted she had pinned him to the wall with stone hands and left him there for another alchemist to get down. Now that she was getting older she overheard more and more of these remarks. Men bedding a powerful woman had to be a national pastime or something, even if she was just fifteen. Three more years, and then she's legal, another had said within earshot. Like a prize to be won. That one had ended up in a dumpster and Ed claimed having no knowledge of it when questioned later on.

So she kept her temper burning hot, railing against the world in general and particular situations aimed at her expense, to be specific.

Ed snapped her gloves on and wriggled her metal fingers a few times, making sure that there was absolutely no water left inside the joints. It was freezing outside and she did not feel like experiencing frostbite inside her metal.

Ed Elric stepped outside the bathroom and gestured for Al to follow her.

"All done," she announced, throwing her brother a smile and zipping up the red coat. "Let's go."


End file.
